The new normal

I woke up this morning and there were five of us in the bed. There were two of us in it when I last went to sleep a few hours previous, after feeding the boy.  Then sometime before daybreak one girl climbed in, then the other. And then the boy fussed, and the lovely husband tucked him in with us, too. I awoke cozy and content and thinking we need a bigger bed.

The girls immediately loved their new sibling. They each kissed him goodnight before they went up to bed yesterday.

 

  

But only after attempting to mount a compelling argument that older kids stay up longer than younger kids; that it couldn't possibly be their bedtimes, therefore, since Baby Brother was still downstairs.

This morning their daddy drove the two girls to school and I drove the boy to his checkup with the pediatrician.  He checked out fine in the eyes of the doctor but I was taken to task by the clucky-grandma receptionist. Did I lift that carseat onto the stroller frame by myself? And where is the lovely husband? I didn't drive myself here, did I? (Um, why yes I did.) I really should be taking it easy.

Yes. Is that one of the rules? That I shouldn't be driving yet? I remember that rule from baby #1, the c-section baby, but I don't remember it from baby #2. Now that I'm on baby #3 nobody even warned me of any rules when I was discharged from the hospital. Maybe because any would-be advisor must know that a third-time mom probably won't bother to abide by them, anyway.

But lest the worriers commence their hand-wringing, let me state that I came homefrom my harrowing driving and baby-lifting excursion and felt just fine. Besides, I only had one other commitment on my calendar, to hold this:


This new normal? It's not bad at all.